


Touch

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barricade has a choice - defect or die. He chooses life, and Bee is tasked with helping him to assimilate.</p><p>Contains: mech-on-mech sticky smut, hint of dub-con (coercion), human/TF tactile, implied human/TF sticky, mention of violence and canon character death, dark themes</p><p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=4017155#t4017155"> on the kink meme.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On his knees in the dirt, Barricade was dying.

Leaking fast, he fought to stabilise his gyros and failed. His cheek hit the ground, splashing in a puddle of his own spilled fluids. His extremities twitched, an involuntary dance, and still the Autobots wouldn’t leave him to die in peace.

They stood over him, smug and victorious, leeching his dignity. They were battered, but – for the most part – whole. None of them were beyond repair, save the one Megatron had torn in half. Unlike his own faction.

And they kept asking him a question, which he kept pretending not to hear. He didn’t want to answer. It would be a betrayal of everything he was, everything he’d ever fought for.

They thought they were being merciful. It was written on their faceplates, it gleamed in the battle-bright glow of their optics. They thought they were being just.

They were wrong.

“You can die here,” the Prime said, his oil-rich voice at odds with the thin breeze and the scudding, tattered clouds. “Or you can redeem yourself.” He held out his hand. It was pitted and scratched, a life of violence written in those minute imperfections. But, like his optics, it was completely empty of guile. “We Cybertronians have suffered too many losses. I offer you a new beginning. Will you join us?”

Defection or deactivation, what a choice.

To his shame, Barricade chose to live.

* * *

The brand stung. It wasn’t a physical pain – it was hardly a mark compared with the bite and scrape of war – but a psychological abrasion. An erosion of everything he had, until that moment in the suburbs of Mission City, thought that he was. His new Autobot insignia gleamed; he could still smell the paint. It was austere and discomforting, and he did everything he could to get it scuffed.

“Hey, it’s the big bad ex-con!”

A door slammed at the other end of the hangar. It was the male human, it had to be. Greasy and over-red, he glowed a little, too delicate for his own planet’s star. The stink of him was obscene, pheromones and all that organic slag. Barricade closed off his vents.

“How ya’ doin’?” The human kept his distance. No, not ‘his’, Barricade corrected himself. It kept _its_ distance, balance shifting from foot to foot, oddly nervous considering the circumstances. Barricade realised that he’d turned to watch, and forced his optics to focus elsewhere.

A musical chirring sounded, and he flinched. Always together, the organic and his car. The damaged Autobot could hardly be considered a mech. Barricade gave him a cursory glance and reverted to alt mode. He backed into a corner, and locked his doors.

“Hey, Bumblebee,” the human said, but with a trace less confidence in its voice.

“Sam,” the damaged ‘bot responded. His vocal processors glitched, layering his words with static. “You were meant to wait for me.”

“I did wait for you!” the human said. “Not my fault you took so long.”

Instead of words, the Autobot answered with a short burst of Earth music. Like the human’s odour, it was foul.

“Awww, c’mon, Bee!” The human threw up its arms. “You know Ratchet’s keen on this, and I really did wait for you! It’s not my fault if you were too busy blowing stuff up. It’s not like he’s gonna shoot me. Didn’t you guys take away all his weapons?”

Concealed within his alt mode, Barricade’s palms itched. The organic was right; his weapons were gone, removed to be studied or stored or destroyed. He didn’t know. He’d get them back, Ironhide had told him, after his rehabilitation. He didn’t believe it.

Bumblebee shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he’d probably learnt from his ward. Fond exasperation, Barricade’s databanks told him. His engine stuttered. Fondness, for that? It was laughable.

“So…” The human put its hands in its pockets and revealed its teeth. It was staring at Barricade again. “How’s our newest Autobot doing?”

Barricade said nothing.

The human stepped closer. “Hey, uh, no hard feelings about almost killing me that time. These guys, they say you’re gonna turn out OK. I can go with that. They, uh.” It paused, rubbing its nasal ridge. “They wanted me to come talk to you, show you how humans are really kinda cool when you get to know us.”

Although his weapons were gone, Barricade’s targeting system still worked. He locked onto the human’s chest. He’d give him ‘no hard feelings’.

“So, uh, hi. I’m Sam, you know, Ladiesman217.” The human laughed, and Bumblebee rolled his optics. Barricade remained silent.

“I just thought, maybe, we could talk, and get to know each other some.” The human advanced a few more steps. Barricade gave the command for his weapons to deploy.

Oblivious, the human continued to approach; Bumblebee stuck close behind him, his weapons charged, his stance protective.

Barricade checked his locks and backed a little further away. He couldn’t afford to be deactivated, not now, not with Megatron offline, his parts scattered or destroyed, with Starscream fled and Frenzy gone and… and… No, he couldn’t think about it. He _wouldn’t_ think about it. He was only alive because he was too scared to die. His faction was gone, his cause obsolete. He was with the Autobots now, and he had to live with it.

But that didn’t mean he had to accept the human’s proximity.

“I think we’d get on really well,” the human said. “If you’d just give it a go. You can talk to me. C’mon, what do you say?” It stretched its lips wider, and laid a hand on Barricade’s hood.

Crawling with disgust, Barricade activated his forced recharge sequence and switched on his alarm.

* * *

“What’s he trying to do?” Sam clasped his hands to his ears, yelling over the wail of the siren. “Bust my ear drums? Actually, Bee, this is really painful! I think my ears are bleeding!”

Bee huffed a sigh, and scooped Sam up. Barricade’s reaction – like Sam’s over-reaction – was hardly a surprise. He carried his charge out of the hangar; the alarm faded, but didn’t stop.

“Damnit, Bee,” Sam said. “What happened in there? All I did was say hi and try to be nice! Which is far more than any Decepticon ever did for me!”

“I know, Sam,” Bee replied. “But he’s not a Decepticon any more, and we-” He fell silent, his vocal processors choosing just that moment to fail, but Sam continued for him.

“Yeah, I know, I know. We have to make allowances.” Sam rubbed his ears. “I just wish he’d make allowances for us.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ratchet and Ironhide called it rehabilitation, but Bumblebee wasn’t so sure about the ‘re’ prefix. They weren’t preparing Barricade for release into Cybertronian society, but the hybrid of Autobot and American-human which existed at their new-found home.

It wasn’t as though he’d be able to leave. Not yet, at any rate, perhaps not ever. He was as much a prisoner as he was a refugee, and Bumblebee was sure that he knew it.

And he was equally sure that Barricade knew that his small freedoms – to drive around the base, to practice his close-combat skills, to choose when to enter a building and when to leave – were entirely contingent on Optimus’s good favour. Which was, in turn, entirely contingent on Barricade’s own efforts to assimilate.

He made an effort with the Autobots, even those like Bumblebee who he had so recently fought. He responded to questions, and with more than just ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers. He played strategy games, and performed the basic maintenance tasks Ratchet gave him to pass the time.

But Barricade detested humans. He wouldn’t stay in a part of the base where a TV or radio was playing; he actively avoided the human staff, the soldiers, the visitors. If forced to remain in the same room as them, he would revert to alt mode and go into recharge, or reverse into a corner and stay exactly where he was, still and silent until they had gone.

Bee didn’t like to think what would happen without Optimus’s good grace. The sear of liquid nitrogen was altogether too recent a memory, and much as he had no fondness for Barricade, he refused to let him go through something like that.

Sam was right, Bee thought, if only Barricade would make effort with the humans.

“He hates us,” Sam said. He toed the ground, kicking up sand and gravel. He glanced from Bumblebee to Optimus to Ratchet, their polished paintwork gleamed in the dying sun. “He won’t even talk to me.”

Bumblebee patted Sam on the back, earning himself a quick smile.

“You only tried the once,” Ratchet said. “There’s no quick fix for his xenophobia.”

“I guess so.” Sam looked down, and Bumblebee hoped that he wasn’t disheartened.

Optimus nodded. “This was never going to be easy. Maybe tomorrow, Sam, you can try again. And Mikaela as well, when she arrives.”

Sam lit up at the mention of Mikaela. “Yeah,” he said, smiling again. “It’s not like it’ll hurt to have another go.”

* * *

It was four astroseconds from Mikaela entering the room to Barricade shutting down all non-essential systems and reverting to alt. He huddled in the corner, his engine off and door locks activated. If it wasn’t for the ever-so-subtle gleam of his headlamps, Bumblebee would have thought he’d gone offline again.

“Hi,” Mikaela said. She stood at a distance and gave a little wave. “Nice vehicle mode. Bet you got some power under that hood.”

Bumblebee leaned against the opposite wall and watched. Flattery was new, they hadn’t tried that yet. Not that it seemed to be working. Barricade remained as inert as ever.

He let it go on for an hour, just long enough for Sam to get impatient and start pacing outside the door.

“All right,” Bumblebee said, his vocal processors hitching, clipping small fragments off the words. “Mikaela, I think your mate is waiting for you.”

Mikaela shrugged as she picked up her bag. “Can’t say I didn’t try,” she whispered, and headed out to join Sam.

Bumblebee waited until the door had closed, then approached Barricade. “Would it hurt to acknowledge them?” He spoke in English, not trusting his vocaliser to enunciate any Cybertronian dialect, not least one an ex-Decepticon was likely to understand.

“How can you bear it?” Barricade spoke as he transformed. Multiple pairs of optics shuttered simultaneously, then fixed on Bee. “Their greasy dermis on your paint, their fingers all over you… And the stench!”

“I don’t find them objectionable,” Bumblebee replied. “In fact, quite the opposite.”

Barricade glared for a moment, then turned away. “They’re repulsive.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Bumblebee said. His glitch warped the words, lending them a quasi-musical lilt.

“Why?” Barricade snapped. “Is this another test? If I don’t play nice with the organics, I’ll be deactivated? Is that it?”

“No!” Bee lay a hand on Barricade’s upper arm. “It’s nothing like that.”

Barricade flinched, but remained where he was. A shudder ran through him, and his ventilation slowed. “Then what is it?”

“We want you to know their value,” Bee replied. His palm began to buzz where it made contact with Barricade’s armour, his fingertips tingling. “We want…” He paused, the slight static charge having derailed his train of thought. He tried again. “We want you to integrate. It’ll be worthwhile, I can assure you.”

“Integrate?” Barricade spat. “Not with them.” But still, he failed to move away, and Bee could have sworn that he felt an incremental increase in pressure as Barricade leant ever so slightly backwards into his touch.

Then Barricade shivered again, a minute vibration passing through his energy field, and it became obvious that Bee hadn’t imagined it. Moreover, it became obvious that Barricade had interpreted his touch in a very different way to the way it had been intended.

The invitation in Barricade’s energy field was clear. It crackled against Bee’s hand, coaxing him to press harder, to increase the range of his touch. Bee knew that he should back off. The power dynamic was wrong. They weren’t equals assessing one another before interface, they were warden and captive. At best, it would be coercion. At worst, he didn’t want to think about it.

But if Bee rejected him now, what would it do to Barricade’s development as an Autobot? It could jeopardise his integration, make him as hostile to Bumblebee and the others as he was to the humans.

“What are you waiting for?” Barricade snapped. “Are you afraid?” It sounded like a goad, the kind of thing one Decepticon might say to another to spur them to action.

“Are you sure?” Bumblebee asked.

“Don’t patronise me, of course I’m sure.” The response was quick and gruff, his bitterness palpable. “You’re the one who started it.” Barricade flexed his shoulders, his armour shifting under Bee’s palm. “You going to finish it or not?”

In response, Bee brought his other hand to Barricade’s waist, fingers skimming along a seam between plates. To say ‘no’ at this point really was too risky. And he _had_ started it, even if he hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t expect Barricade to have read the real intention in his touch. It was foolish to have used such a human gesture, intended to reassure, to comfort, around someone who had been so isolated from human company.

Barricade sighed, and pressed back against him. A group of red pinpricks reflected from the opposite wall, vanishing and reappearing in an odd sequence as Barricade blinked. Of course, he wouldn’t want them face to face; too intimate, too much like something an Autobot would do. But he seemed to crave physical contact, pushing against Bumblebee, flattening his doorwings and wriggling a little to force the major flanges of his back and thighs to tessellate with Bumblebee’s own landscape of ridges and valleys.

Bee’s hands roved. Careful of the razor-sharpness of many of Barricade’s edges, he felt into hollows and stroked the full length of transformation seams. A thrill shook him each time he hit on a sensor cluster. Barricade moaned, leaning more of his weight against Bee, the tension draining from his posture, the little lights dying as he shuttered his optics and kept them that way.

His own hands remained still, and he made no attempt to touch Bee with them – perhaps that was how Decepticons interfaced? Bee had no idea – but the lack of reciprocity was offset by the many encouraging sounds which emerged from Barricade’s vocaliser. Then a click and a brief hydraulic hiss, and a portion of his heated pelvic armour slid aside. In response Bee’s spike tried to pressurise, juddering against his own closed cover.

He kept it shut. There was no way he could reveal his arousal, that would be too much. But it would be equally wrong to stop.

He knelt, pulling Barricade down with him, the ex-Decepticon’s shoulder tires stretched wide apart, allowing Bee to lay his chin on Barricade’s shoulder, to look down across his abdomen and watch.

“Mmmf,” Barricade writhed, heels scraping against the floor, claws snicking together. “Now!”

Looping one arm around his waist, Bee felt along the new opening. His fingertips skimmed across the hard point of Barricade’s spike, emerging fast from its housing. The tip leaked lubricant, steaming hot even in the warm indoor air, and Bee smeared it down the shaft, gripping tight as Barricade stiffened, his fingers slipping as he fought to establish a rhythm.

Barricade moaned, and leant his head back. Bee held him, not tight but firm, and worked his hand along the spike from base to tip, the zing of charge crackling up his arm.

“Urgh, oh!” Barricade thrust into Bee’s hand, his claws scrabbling at the floor. His spike shot silver, but Bee didn’t let go. He held on until the final convulsion of overload had passed, and Barricade’s frame echoed with a contented rumble.

Too late, Bee realised that while they had started this alone, they weren’t alone any more. Mikaela stood by the door, wide-eyed and gaping. Then she grinned, pursing her lips as though suppressing laughter, and left as quietly as she’d come.


	3. Chapter 3

Barricade hadn’t noticed Mikaela, Bumblebee was relieved. But Mikaela had, for some reason Bumblebee couldn’t quite fathom, recorded a little of what she’d seen on her mobile phone – a gadget she shouldn’t even have on this particular military base – and was delighting in showing it to Sam.

Sam, for his part, had turned a very bright shade of pink.

“Are you two, uh… doing what I think you’re doing?” He gave Bumblebee that look he always seemed to give him when something confusing happened.

“What you think we were doing?” Bee said, his vocal processors for once glitch free. He patted Sam gently on the back. “Manual stimulation,” he explained. “For the purposes of physical and psychological release.”

“Oh, uh… OK.”

“Like Sam’s happy time,” Mikaela stage whispered, then cracked up. Sam turned redder.

“Shut up!” Sam wailed. “Oh that is it, I am so not talking to you.”

Mikaela tried to stifle her giggles, and Bumblebee glanced from one to the other. He wasn’t about to ask what ‘Sam’s happy time’ was, but he could take a guess.

“So, are you like _allowed_ to do that?” Sam said. “I mean, he’s a… and you’re a…”

“There’s no shame in it,” Bumblebee said. “And it may help him to become settled. Although I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourselves. It could be a step in the wrong direction if he were to find out that you know.”

Mikaela fought for breath. “You do anything more that just manual handling?”

“Oh Mikaela, that’s just…” Sam gaped. “I don’t even…” He put his back to her and crossed his arms. “I’m _really_ not talking to you. See this? This is me. Not talking to you.”

“So it is, Sam,” she replied. Her eyes glinted in a way that seemed to promise mischief. “Well,” she said to Bee. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Bumblebee replied. There was no reason to deny it, although Sam appeared to wish that he had.

“Wow,” Mikaela said. “I’d love to see that.”

“You what? NO!” Sam cried. “I mean, that’s personal stuff, you can’t just go in and… and _watch_ something like that!”

Mikaela batted him on the arm. “You’re such a prude.”

“Well,” Bumblebee said, unsure how to continue. In truth, the thought of the humans watching as he interfaced was more than a little intriguing. “It isn’t always done in private,” he conceded. “But I’m not certain who would-”

“I’d love to see you with Barricade.”

Sam gaped, and Bumblebee blinked.

“Oh come on, we make out on your hood all the time, and I know you like it. I wanna see what else you guys get up to. Which reminds me, I promised you a wax and polish…”

It sounded like bribery, but at least it was the transparent, harmless kind. It wasn’t as though Bumblebee had actually agreed to anything.

“You did?” Sam said.

“Sure.” Mikaela grinned. “From both of us.”

* * *

It felt a little like deception, but Bumblebee reassured himself that it was for a good cause. He idled in alt mode on the tarmac. It radiated heat, warming his undercarriage as the sun beat down on him from above. Soapy water steamed from his every external surface, while Sam and Mikaela alternately sponged him clean and got water all over each other. Every so often, it devolved into play-fighting, but that was all perfectly fine. The longer he sat here like this, the more likely it was that Barricade would happen across them.

And when he did, Bumblebee could show him one aspect of his interactions with humans that was wholly wonderful.

Bee had chosen a spot on Barricade’s preferred route between the mess hall and the hangar in which he liked to recharge. Despite this, the humans had rinsed him and dried him and moved onto the wax and polish before the ex-Decepticon showed up.

The moment Barricade spotted them, he dropped into a defensive crouch, his optics narrowing.

“Oh hey!” Mikaela called. Sam managed to tear his eyes from her chest long enough to echo her welcome.

Barricade backed away.

Bumblebee revved his engine, an unsubtle purr to signal his pleasure. Mikaela leaned over his hood and whispered. “I see what you did there.”

//That looks unpleasant,// Barricade said, using the least public of the few comm. channels available to him. He eyed the empty buckets and discarded sponges, the soft chamois cloths in the humans’ hands, the large tub of wax. //Do you require assistance?//

//They’re doing fine,// Bumblebee responded. //More than fine, in fact. But I’d like it if you stayed.//

Barricade nodded. He didn’t approach, but he didn’t turn and flee either. And he watched, which was more than Bumblebee had expected him to.

//I still don’t know how you can bear it,// Barricade said.

Bee sighed, the soft buff of the chamois sending an enjoyable tingling warmth all through him. //It’s really good,// he replied. //I could drift right into recharge.// It would have been more accurate to say that he was going to recharge very well tonight, but only after dealing with the pressure building behind his interface cover. But he _was_ very relaxed, and it was all the humans’ doing.

//They’re incompetent,// Barricade snarled. //I can see from here they have no technique.//

But you’re still watching them, Bumblebee thought. Perhaps you’re just a little bit intrigued? He gave a staticky sigh of contentment as Sam worked his way around the driver’s side wing mirror.

//It’s surprisingly effective,// he said. //You should give it a go.//

Barricade’s growl of disgust was audible. //They’re leaving smears.//

They probably were. //That’s not important.//

//They’re _touching_ you! And you let them!//

//For a very good reason,// Bumblebee responded. //If you tried it, you’d understand.//

“I understand perfectly well,” Barricade said aloud, and headed towards them.

The humans looked up at him warily, hearts pounding and eyes wide. To their credit, they didn’t bolt. They stood firm, exhibiting trust exactly as Optimus had instructed them to. Bumblebee prepared to transform, in case that trust was unfounded.

Then Mikaela gasped as Barricade’s talons snicked past her face and speared the chamois from her hand. Bumblebee relaxed again.

“Here’s how it’s done,” Barricade huffed. He bent over Bumblebee’s alt and applied the cloth to his armour in a way that made his wires fritz and his innards melt. There sure as the pit wouldn’t be any streaks after this. Or any chance that he could get away with transforming soon, unless he wanted everyone to know how warm he’d got in a certain area.

All too quickly, however, Barricade backed off. He dropped the chamois at Mikaela’s feet.

“Done,” he said, and strode away.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey Bee!” Sam sprinted up to him, his hair still damp from the shower. “Bee! I’ve got an idea!”

“I’m listening,” Bee replied. He tweaked a setting on his cannon and transformed his arm. Better, but it still wasn’t perfect.

“We should give Barricade a wash. Soapy water, little human hands being all dextrous.” Sam grinned and nudged Bee in the shin. “That’ll show him. Mr ‘I’m-better-at-getting-the-smears-off-than-you.”

Bumblebee brought his arm back to its root form. “It isn’t a competition,” he said, and winced as his vocaliser squealed.

Sam pulled a face. “Still not fixed, huh? But yeah, we should give him a reason to like being around humans. Well, being around us anyway, but it’s a start! We’ll need your help though.”

“Will you really?” Bee said. The boy’s plan, while attractive, had a ring of serious inadvisability about it. But anything could be worth a shot. And besides, Bee was still his guardian, he could always step in if things went too far.

“Course we will,” Sam said. “You could get him going for us, and we could help out. I mean.” He lowered his voice. “He seemed to like being touched by you, the other day.”

That was true enough, Bee thought. But there was a universe of difference between being touched by a fellow Cybertronian – regardless of past enmity – and being touched by two organic aliens.

Still, Barricade needed to learn to trust Sam and Mikaela. Perhaps touch was the way to go about that.

“All right,” Bumblebee said. “But let me talk to him first.”

* * *

Bee sat in a corner of Barricade’s hangar, his arms looped loosely around his knees. A tarpaulin screen separated the recharge area from the rest of the room. It was large enough, but spare. Barricade had few possessions – a couple of tools, some maintenance equipment, nothing frivolous - and the only object on the low set of shelves was part of an engine Ratchet had given him to repair.

Bee stated Sam’s proposition in clear and straightforward terms. He wanted no subterfuge here.

Barricade simply stared.

“I understand your trepidation,” Bee began.

“No you don’t,” Barricade cut in. “You were intimate with them. It’s disgusting.” He clacked his claws against the concrete floor. “And you _enjoyed_ it.”

“It was enjoyable,” Bumblebee replied. “If only you’d give them a chance.”

“No,” Barricade said. “I won’t be touched by them.” He glanced Bee’s way, optics focusing for a moment on the Autobot’s folded hands.

“What about by me?” Bee asked.

“I…” Barricade paused, his facial spines flexing and twitching. “It was an accident, wasn’t it? The other day. You didn’t mean to initiate interface.” He looked away, at the broken engine on its shelf.

“It wasn’t what I’d intended,” Bumblebee admitted. “But it isn’t something I regret.”

“It didn’t do anything for you.”

“It’s… inappropriate for me to say so,” Bee said. “But you’re wrong.”

This earned him the briefest of glances. “You didn’t act on it.”

I wanted to, Bee thought. “It wouldn’t have been-”

“Appropriate?” The bitterness was back, a well of sentiment that Bumblebee could only guess at. Barricade’s doorwings flexed, butting against his shoulder tires. “Fuck propriety.” He stood, defiant yet diminished; he was alone and lost, and almost certainly lonely. “You heated up when I polished you. I could hear your fans. Was that appropriate?” He paused, his claws flexing against empty air. “I want you to touch me,” he stated. “I want to interface. Here and now. Is that clear enough for you?”

“It is,” Bee said, but he didn’t get up. Not yet. There was an opportunity here, and although it made his tanks roil and his fuel lines knot just thinking about it, he had to take it. He might not get another. “Will you give the humans a chance?” he asked.

It was coercion, pure and simple, and Barricade glared. Then he laughed, a rough and humourless sound. “What choice do I have?”

Bumblebee would have argued then, would have told Barricade that he _did_ have a choice, that he would touch him in all the ways he wanted to be touched, even without his agreement to be close to the humans. Just as long as it kept Barricade on the path to integration, as long as it calmed and settled him, and kept the animosity at bay. But Barricade _had_ agreed, the blackmail had worked, and Bumblebee remained silent as Barricade approached, as he settled himself slowly, tentatively, at Bumblebee’s side, and leant against him.

Careful not to scuff their paint, Bee began at Barricade’s shoulders. It was a gentle, skimming touch, pressing through the faint resistance of his energy field to warm the metal underneath.

Bee took his time. He explored the unfamiliar frame-type in a detailed caress, discovering new sensor clusters, and learning what pressure he should apply to elicit the best reactions. After a while, Barricade began to touch him back. It wasn’t much, and it certainly wasn’t confident – not like the day before with a chamois pinched between his talons – but it conveyed a halting and honest desire that made Bee ache to relieve his loneliness.

But when Barricade lay back, his door-wings scraping on the bare concrete floor, Bee couldn’t follow. It wouldn’t have been right.

“Not here,” he said, the words barely audible against a surge of static. He leaned forward, encouraging Barricade to wrap his legs around his waist, then lifted him, and carried him to the foam pallet he used as a berth.

“Makes no difference,” Barricade said, but he clung to Bumblebee regardless, sighing as the foam moulded to the idiosyncrasies of his back and the protrusions of his doors. “Will you…?” he asked, not completing the question in words, but in the opening hiss of his interface cover.

How could he not? Bee was ready, his circuits thrumming, his interface array burning with need. He released his spike, pausing only to slick his fingers over the entrance to Barricade’s valve, a quick touch to reassure himself that the other was prepared, before easing himself inside. Barricade grunted and bucked, squeezing Bee’s hips and tugging him closer.

“Not,” he groaned, “gonna,” – he thrust himself up, enveloping the whole of Bee’s spike in one beautifully thrilling movement – “break.”

Of course he wasn’t, but Bee adopted a gentle pace. Although their components appeared to be compatible, he didn’t want any unpleasant surprises, particularly none which would hurt Barricade. After all, he’d already hurt the mech – he couldn’t think of their bargain in any other terms – and he had the desperate urge to make amends.

Barricade clasped at him, moaning softly at each long thrust. He didn’t try to control the pace, to make Bee move faster or slower – not that Bee thought it was possible to move any slower. He simply held on, claws wrapped around Bee’s arms, legs tight around his waist, his optics shuttered and his vents coming in quick little gasps.

Bumblebee sighed, a wonderful bloom of heat flooding out from his interface array. The slow slide of his spike was delicious against the uneven, clinging ridges of Barricade’s valve. It was at once familiar and like nothing he’d ever felt before. Each thrust seemed to awaken new sensors, each withdrawal was an agony of anticipation.

“Touch me?” Barricade whispered, and Bee complied. Supporting himself with one hand, he worked the other over the complex landscape of Barricade’s chestplates. So many flanges and dips, so much crackling, dark metal. He passed over the casing of Barricade’s spark, the radiation tickling against his hand, then up to investigate his throat, and the strange geography of his face.

Barricade arched, sighing, and leaned into Bee’s touch. It was impossible to tell if this was the way he had always had it, or if it was as new to him as it was to Bumblebee.

Bee stroked the outer edge of his mouth, and gasped in surprise – and not a small amount of pleasure – as Barricade’s glossa darted out to lap at his fingers.

Then Barricade tensed, tiny tremors working their way through his frame. His valve clenched, and Bee groaned, thrusting hard just the once as his systems overloaded, leaving nothing but the warm and heady glow of release.

He withdrew slowly, uncertain exactly what Barricade wanted or expected of him next. The ex-Decepticon unwound his legs from Bee’s hips, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Should I stay?” Bee asked. Instantly, he regretted his choice of words. He didn’t have to be so cold.

Barricade gave him a curious look, his voice emotionless as he responded. “No.”


	5. Chapter 5

The new day came altogether too fast. Mikaela and Sam rushed around, giggling and kissing and whispering to each other as they gathered equipment for the wash and polish.

Bumblebee watched in silence. He wasn’t sure what he’d got himself into, let alone what he’d got Sam and Mikaela into, but there was no going back. At least they were doing this indoors, in Bumblebee’s hangar where the doors could be locked and privacy assured.

Waiting for the other to arrive, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if, the previous night, he had never asked if he should leave. If he had lain beside Barricade and held him. Would the mech have consented for Bee to recharge with him? Or would they, perhaps, have continued to touch each other until comfort turned again to arousal, and Barricade parted his thighs in an invitation to initiate interface.

The thought sent a warm buzz to all the wrong places. Bee couldn’t think of that right now; much as Mikaela wanted to watch them ‘facing, he doubted that Barricade would want to be watched.

Not that Barricade wanted what _was_ coming. But Sam was so sure it would work, and Mikaela had the gleam in her eyes again. Bumblebee reflected that if this was for him, he’d be loving it. But it wasn’t.

* * *

“Their hands are exposed,” Barricade said. He stood by the door, claws around the jamb. The humans had paused to watch him, the female baring her teeth, her cheeks flushed. It was easier to think of them as ‘him’ and ‘her’ now there were two of them, although he couldn’t credit that they were sentient.

“Awww, man,” the male said. “It’s too hot for gloves.”

Barricade wasn’t sure what the human hoped to achieve with this outburst. “They secrete all the time,” he said to Bumblebee. “I won’t have that on me.”

Bee went to respond, but the female got in first.

“Then we won’t touch you that way,” she said, bouncing on her heels. “See?” She buried her fist in a sponge. “It’ll just be this stuff, promise.”

Barricade ignored her. If this was the price for someone to interface with, someone to touch him and enter him, and maybe one day allow him to be the one doing the entering, then so be it. None of the others had expressed any interest, not even the Prime, whose right it was as conqueror to possess those he conquered.

He knew the yellow ‘bot didn’t really desire him. Their first encounter had been a mistake, and last night had been a pity frag at best. But Barricade didn’t care; he’d overloaded just the same.

“Should I transform?” he asked.

Bumblebee shrugged. “It’s your choice.” His vocal glitch was less noticeable today, and his yellow paint gleamed. Perhaps the humans had been at him already. “Do you want me to lock the door?”

It sounded like a hint - get out of the doorway and get on with it. He supposed he ought to; the sooner it was started, the sooner it would be over. It wasn’t as though this would be the worst thing he’d ever had to endure.

Barricade approached the humans, tugging the scent of them through his vents, attempting to inure himself before the stench became too much. The female was coated with chemicals, a sickly sweet vegetable smell which masked her true odour. It wasn’t exactly palatable, but it was better than the male.

Bumblebee, by contrast, smelt right. Barricade glanced back at him, willing him to hurry. He seemed to have interpreted Barricade’s compliance with his hint as a sign that he needed to secure the hangar. At least the more aggressive pack-humans would be discouraged from gate-crashing. But Barricade wanted him close, and quick. Now that he was here, the waiting grated on him. He crouched, bringing himself closer to the humans’ level, eyeing them warily. Finally, Bee came over.

“We want you to enjoy this,” he said. He knelt behind Barricade and trailed his hands lightly over his doorwings.

Barricade trembled. Just keep doing that, he thought. Just keep that up and nothing the humans do will even register. But the female stepped forward, a bucket of steaming water in one hand, her clothing already sodden.

“And who knows,” she said, dipping her sponge into the bucket. “You might even end up clean.”

He froze at the first glut of hot, soapy water. She’d chosen his hand, pressed to the floor for support – and, if necessary, leverage. She licked her lips, and squeezed the sponge into a gap between his talons, just as Bee increased the pressure on his doorwings. He remained still, minute tremors cascading through his sensor net.

“You like that?” the female asked. She dipped the sponge again, and went for the next gap, smoothing away the dust, easing the alien pollutants from his Cybertronian alloys. He cut optical feed by 30%, and leant back against the Autobot. He didn’t want to see what the female was doing, but he didn’t want not to know either.

“I think he does,” the male whispered, regardless that Barricade hadn’t answered. “Maybe he’ll like this too.” He started on the other hand, copying the female’s actions, his press lighter, his movements less firm. But he was quick. If only, Barricade thought, he could be quicker.

It took them a long while to wash him. Their hands were small, even wrapped in the bulky sponges, and they could cover only so much of him before they needed more water, more soap.

And through it all, Bumblebee continued to caress him. Fingertips teased the insides of his doorwings, palms rubbed against the treads of his tires; ventilation came quick and hot over the atmospheric sensors in his wheel rims. He leaned back, and further back, until Bumblebee supported most of his weight, and his arms hung limp at his sides.

He kept an optic on the humans. They seemed well trained; they knew where water was allowed to go and where it was not. They kept away from his face and the armour covering his spark chamber. But they were also industrious where he would have much preferred them to be lax. And, as the charge built in his core, causing him to flinch and murmur, he got the impression that they were learning.

“Clean enough?” the male asked, and Barricade vented a shaky sigh of relief. It was over. He had endured, and soon enough Bumblebee would follow through on the promise implicit in his touch.

“Now to get you dry.” The female ducked under his knee and began to wipe along his thigh in broad, firm strokes.

He tensed. “It will evaporate by itself, you don’t-” But Bumblebee chose just that moment to stroke the back of his neck, and his protest dissolved into a moan.

Trembling, he fought not to close his legs. If he damaged the humans, Ironhide would deactivate him. But if he allowed this to continue, the female would elicit more such reactions. Especially as she moved closer and clover to his interface hatch. It couldn’t be borne.

But the male had taken his other thigh, and – with his hand wrapped in a soft microfibre cloth – began to wipe the underside of his armour plates.

//Feels good, doesn’t it?// Bumblebee said, and it was a moment before Barricade realised he was using comms. Was there something he wanted to conceal from the humans? Or was he simply pandering to what he thought would be Barricade’s wishes?

Barricade refused to respond. Of course it felt good. Any drone stimulating that exact row of sensors could cause him to react in just the same way. His fingers curled, claws flexing, as pulse after pulse went straight to the core of him.

“Oooh!” A spark flew: static discharge. The female jumped and giggled, and ran the cloth again along the edge of his interface hatch. He shuttered his optics, briefly; that felt too good. His spike juddered against the inside of its cover, and for a moment all he could hear was the rush of coolant as his temperature finally climbed too high.

His heels scrabbled against the floor, his wrist wheels spun. He fought against the opening of the hatch, wishing that it was his gaoler’s hands feeling their way along that oh-so-sensitive seam, inviting the cover to retract, urging the stiff heat of his spike to protrude into the cooler air. But then the female moved on, leaning into the delicate juncture between his hip and his thigh, and he almost whimpered. No, he did whimper. Oh no, he couldn’t have. But the male was looking at him with a calculating grin, and now it was _his_ hands dipping into a seam so narrow his gaoler would never have been able to reach.

The female swung over his thigh and worked her way up his hip to his waist. He squirmed, no longer supine, no longer relaxed. Bee slid his hands beneath Barricade’s arms, lifting gently, raising them above his head and holding them there by his talons, not gripping tight, but simply suggesting that this is where they ought to stay.

Barricade squirmed, a hot rush of static spilling from his vocaliser, a hotter rush of lubricant erupting from his spike. They shouldn't make him feel like this, with their vile little fingers, their loathsome damp skin; they shouldn’t be able to… he bucked, and Bumblebee held him close, one hand entwined among his claws, the other smoothing along the heated, dry surface of his chest plates.

The male dug his fingers deeper, the cloth so thin that Barricade could feel the regular thud of his heart through his fingertips.

The overload built and Barricade was powerless to stop it. He ground his denta, pressing back against Bumblebee, arching his waist as his spike pulsed in its captivity, his valve throbbing in time with the pounding of the human’s pulse. He shuddered, sparks crawling over his armour, and an incandescent gush of fluid filled the space behind his interface hatch, a searing flood of heat spreading from his spike to his valve to his every sensor and back again. His CPU blacked momentarily, and rebooted. He slumped in Bee’s arms, venting hard.

“Did you enjoy that?” the female asked. He curled his lip at her in a wordless sneer. Condescending little thing, as though there was something special about her and the other human which had made this happen.

Barricade leant his head back, twisting until he could see Bumblebee’s face. He flicked his glossa along the Autobot’s throat. //You owe me.//


	6. Chapter 6

Bumblebee blinked in disbelief. The hot slide of Barricade’s glossa was brief, but utterly enticing. It echoed through his wiring, making his spike tingle and his valve ache. And those words, _You owe me_. It was the first proactive thing Barricade had said since Optimus had brought him here in the aftermath of Mission City, leaking and weak, on the verge of deactivation. This was not compliance for the sake of survival; it was about expressing a need, and one he expected to have fulfilled.

Barricade glared, optics ablaze. Bee’s engine purred. It was a breakthrough, and he began to wonder how much further they could go.

“What’s he doing?” Sam whispered, but Mikaela shushed him, her attention fixed on the ex-Decepticon.

//I do owe you,// Bumblebee said. When he’d made it, their bargain had felt somehow dirty - coercive and immoral. Now, it felt like a necessary evil, a risky move that ran counter to his core principles, but that had achieved results where gentle patience had failed. He smoothed his free hand over Barricade’s waist, and disentangled his fingers from the mech’s claws, allowing him to lower his arms. //I’ll be here for you,// he said. //Whenever-//

//Now,// Barricade cut in, revving his engine so hard it made Sam jump. //I want to collect on it now.//

Bee’s vocaliser gave a sharp bleep of surprise. //Right now?//

* * *

What do you mean: _Right now?_ , Barricade thought, but he didn’t say it. He’d already pushed too far. It wasn’t his place to make demands, not least on the only Autobot to give him the one thing that made his continued existence worthwhile. He resisted an impatient huff. It had to be the damaged one, didn’t it? The defective xenophile…

And he could lay off the ‘are you sure?’ questions. What did he think was going to happen? That they’d overload him and he wouldn’t want to interface?

And frag, how he wanted to interface. He didn’t stop to analyse it. He didn’t want to know if it was because he was alone and isolated on an alien world, or because of the trauma of everything he’d been through; or if it was because Cybertron was dead and he could never go home, and this was the only pleasure he had left which he could actually enjoy. He just wanted to fuck. To fuck and to forget.

//Yes _now_ ,// he snapped. And along with the forgetting, he might just claw a small victory out of this, something else to make his captivity more bearable. The humans had overloaded him; almost certainly they’d done the same to Bumblebee in the past. But there were things he could do to the Autobot that they couldn’t even dream of.

And he wanted them to know.

* * *

Barricade’s answer was exactly what Bee wanted to hear. His spike released, the pressure verging on painful. It butted at the small of Barricade’s back, and the mech squirmed against it, a trail of lubricant slicking along his newly-washed plating. Bee cupped Barricade’s interface hatch, a delicious vibration travelling up through his arm. It was good the humans were only watching, his armour had grown hot enough to burn them.

Barricade bucked, his hatch coming open and his spike jutting into Bee’s waiting palm. Sticky with transfluid from his recent overload, it was already re-pressurising. Bee squeezed the tip, eliciting an excited shiver from Barricade and a new flow of lubricant from the spike. He smoothed it down the shaft, his valve aching just as hard as his own spike throbbed. The feel of it was amazing, the nodes crackling with charge, the ridges vibrating subtly with arousal and an echo of Barricade’s engine.

Over by the wall, Sam bit his lip, his face flushed. Mikaela sighed.

//Want you inside me,// Barricade growled. Scooting back a little, he spread his legs, his hips bucking into Bee’s touch. Bee’s spike discharged sparks, and he moaned aloud, the fingers of his free hand questing down, testing the gleaming rim of Barricade’s valve, then pushing gently, slowly inside.

Barricade tensed against him, his vents coming in quick little gasps, his doorwings fluttering against Bee’s chest. Bee took his time, feeling out every ridge and dip, stretching the lining ever so slightly, ensuring each node was slick with lubricant. The charge buzzed over his fingers, it thrummed through his hand. He glanced at the humans; they stared, open-mouthed and utterly, silently, rapt.

With his fingers buried deep in Barricade’s valve, Bee urged him to move back, until his spike was positioned at Barricade’s entrance. The mech thrummed, his engine revving hard. Bee’s fingers flexed as the lining squeezed around them, and he waited a moment – caught in an agony of wanting, his own valve clutching in sympathy – then he eased his fingers out at the same time as pushing his spike up and in.

The angle was gorgeous, not deep exactly, but novel and intense. Barricade reached behind himself, his claws winding around Bee’s waist, giving himself the leverage to lift up a little, shifting the spike inside him, then back down, slowly at first, and then faster, rougher as Bee began to thrust, matching his pace perfectly.

Barricade’s valve clung, tight as his claws, hot as the seep of transfluid trickling down his spike, now wrapped again in the eager warmth of Bee’s fingers. He groaned, a loud low rumble, and tugged on the framework of Bee’s waist. //Deeper…//

It was all Bee could do not to come there and then, but he held on, gasping at the slam of cool air against his spike as Barricade lifted off him, to kneel on the hard floor, hips raised, and valve exposed in invitation. Bee leant over him, burying his face between his doorwings, but held back with his spike, teasing the entrance, giving himself a moment to draw back from the verge of overload.

He felt his way down Barricade’s arms, wrapping his fingers around his wrist tires. The rubber hummed, echoing with the vibration that spread through every inch of their frames.

//Now,// Barricade urged. //Please…//

Bumblebee slammed into him, his engine roaring, a coruscation of static crackling across his armour. Barricade dipped his head and spread his thighs a little further, deepening the angle. His valve convulsed, a precursor of overload, squeezing Bee tight, rippling gloriously over the surface of his spike. Bee hissed static, thrusting harder, faster, his tip connecting with Barricade’s end plate, and sending a cascade of electric thrills through them both.

“Wow,” Sam whispered, just as Bumblebee’s spike surged, the overload consuming him.

Barricade snarled, convulsing beneath him, his valve tightening yet further as he peaked, a crackling, shuddering release which warmed Bee’s spark and made him ache to be taken the same way.

“Yeah, wow,” Mikaela breathed.

Bumblebee heaved for air, his every system reeling. He thrust again, gently, and withdrew. Dizzy and replete with satiation, he wasn’t ready for what Barricade did next. The mech twisted under him, and Bumblebee fell back, his door wings juddering against the floor, clawed hands on his thighs, shoving them apart, a glossa warm against the tip of his spike.

//Your turn,// Barricade snarled, and Bee yelled out loud, fingers scrabbling on the floor as the ex-Decepticon took Bee’s full, over-sensitised length into his mouth. It was almost too much, but it was oh so wonderful, and Bee stretched out, arching and bucking, unable to quite believe that this was happening, that Barricade was making another first move, that Sam and Mikaela were still watching, blushing and heated and completely fascinated.

And then that mouth moved down, glossa lapping around the base of his spike, then further down and his valve clenched, throbbing and aching and suddenly, gloriously filled. Bee clutched at his own helm. There was nothing he could say to that, it was just too good.

//Do you want me to…// Barricade began, but Bee was already nodding, his valve clenching and needy.

“Yes, yes!” He wasn’t sure if he spoke aloud or over comms, but the response was immediate. Barricade leant over him, face-to-face, and the full length of his wide, slick spike slid deep inside.

Bumblebee’s engine revved, and his gyros spun. Lost for a moment, he forgot they were being watched; he forgot about factions and coercion and even the harsh scrape of damp concrete against his shoulders and back. He looped his arms around Barricade, then his legs, clutching him, feeling him, sighing as that spike drew back, moaning as it thrust forward. And Barricade tightened his grip, his plates and struts shifting, the complex planes of his frame dancing around each other, around Bee, as he initiated a partial transformation and locked them tight together.

“What the…” The quiet human whisper hardly registered as Barricade plunged into him, their hips rocking together, their frames intertwined, each surface vibrating with the echo of their engines. Static crawled over and between them, discharging at random. It mingled with the subtle buzz of Barricade’s energy field, getting under his armour, teasing into seams and gaps just as his claws teased gently under the edges of Bee’s plating, seeking out hidden sensors and tugging on wires.

When overload came, Bee wasn’t ready for it. It wracked through him, a shock of ecstasy, sudden and unrelenting. His CPU blanked, all thought suspended as everything dissolved into a glorious thrumming haze. Barricade continued to thrust, faster and more urgent within the rippling, sparking confines of Bee’s valve until the hot surge of his climax flooded out, and he seemed to collapse, trembling and sighing in Bee’s embrace.

“Damn,” Sam whispered, his eyes wide.

Bee groaned, clinging tight to Barricade, not wanting him to move, let alone withdraw. And Barricade didn’t seem to want to, as he lay against Bee, their interface hardware still connected, little ripples of pleasure occurring wherever they touched. Bee’s spike twitched against Barricade’s armour, but he was too tired to do anything about it.

Instead he lay still, bringing the revolutions of his engine up to a rumbling purr, unable to prevent the minute convulsions of his valve around that wonderful, filling presence.

Barricade made no effort to disengage, but revved his engine in return and settled his head at the dip of Bee’s shoulder. It was reassuring, and not a little gratifying, and Bee couldn’t help but hope that it was the first step in a new and better direction, that maybe just maybe Barricade might come to want to stay with them for more than simple survival.

Mikaela fidgeted, her tongue darting over her lips. “That was amazing,” she said. Bee could do nothing but murmur his agreement.

* * *

Barricade turned his head, bringing the female into his field of vision. She’d been paying attention, her heart rate elevated and a gleam of excitement in her eyes; she’d better have learnt something.

She flashed him a grin and hefted her bucket. It was full, the water steaming. “So,” she said. “Looks like you guys just went and got yourselves all dirty again.”

Bee tensed beneath him, concerned perhaps that Barricade might bolt. But the glow of satisfaction suffused him; moving was far too much effort. He supposed he was meant to like the humans now, to appreciate them because they’d given him pleasure. But that wasn’t the lesson he’d come away with. They had proven themselves useful, that was all, like a well-programmed interface drone. They still looked – and smelt – disgusting, but he could tolerate them, provided they continued to prove their use.  
“So we did,” he responded, and Bumblebee’s shock would have made him laugh if he wasn’t already so drained. One over on the Autobot, and a lesson taught to the humans; he had salvaged something from this situation after all.

The male picked up a sponge, a cocky grin on his face. “You want some help with that?”


End file.
